


I Need A Friend (But I Can't Yell)

by confines



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Cutting, Depression, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt!Jackson, Jackson Whump, Mild Gore, Possible Character Death, Self-Harm, unintentional suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confines/pseuds/confines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> Jackson self-harming. In character turmoil is what I want the most, and doesn't matter when it's set. I'll love you forever if you get him to realize his adoptive parents love him and that he doesn't have to be the best to be liked. Plus for him quitting lacrosse for a while, alerting f.ex Danny to that something is wrong. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>Fill from teenwolfkink @ http://teenwolfkink.livejournal.com/4407.html?thread=3079223#t3079223. <br/>No happy ending, no happy revelations, brace yourself. Title is taken from Numb by Marina & the Diamonds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Need A Friend (But I Can't Yell)

Jackson knows the cutting’s gotta stop. He’s not stupid, he knows it’s not healthy. Knows that dragging a blade across his flesh and just relishing in the blood that arises is one of the least healthy things he could possibly be doing.

But goddamn if it doesn’t make him feel better. Forget feel better, it makes him feel. Jackson’s gone numb over the years, starting when his parents told him that they weren't.

And now, with the complications with the bite, losing his position as lacrosse captain, breaking up with Lydia, the way he keeps blacking out. Hell, spending a day locked in a police van listening to people he thought he could eventually trust trash him, over and over. Call him a monster. Stiles seriously suggested they kill him.

It’s all too much.

And plus, the cuts keep healing. Here today, gone tomorrow. Maybe Jackson’s body is finally accepting the bite. _Maybe I really am the kanima._ He doesn’t think that, he doesn’t.

So he cuts. He cuts with wild abandon, because he knows within a day all the evidence will be gone.

In a way, it’s freeing. He doesn’t have to worry about anyone seeing, for the most part. If he does it before he sleeps, the marks usually disappear by morning.

But at the same time, now there’s no proof. Now he really does look perfect, despite how he feels. Sure, there are the old scars, but they’re just not the same.

He’s up at 2am, a few nights after he puts out the restraining order against Scott and Stiles, when he cuts too deep. He knows immediately what he’s done, tries to staunch the flow. It’s his left forearm, up near his elbow. Instead of the steady stream of blood he’s accustomed to, he got a fucking fountain.

 _It's like one of those shitty horror movies_ , he thinks dazedly. The ones where the black guy dies first, the characters are always getting murdered when they split up, and the loner kid is always the masked murderer. His blood sprays outwards and he knows he’s probably going to need to call someone this time.

In the end, he calls Danny. It’s always Danny. When he’s too wasted to drive, he calls Danny. When he’s feeling like he shouldn’t be alone, he calls Danny. And when it’s 2am and he’s bleeding out in his room, he calls Danny.

Except Danny doesn’t pick up.

He tries again. No answer.

Okay, he can deal with this. He can call Lydia.

But then he thinks back to her crying when he had that headache and demanded his key back. No, he’s not calling Lydia, she’s better off without him. 

Jackson’s depressed to find that that is the end of his list of SOS recipients. Scott was right, he has nobody. Stiles was right too.

His arm’s still bleeding, and when he removes the hand holding the cloth tightly against the wound a fucking spray of blood comes arcing out.

_If this doesn’t stop within the next five minutes, I’ll wake up my parents._

He promises that, but when the five minutes are up, he hesitates. He checks the wound. It’s still bleeding. Maybe he should just sleep it off. But it seems like a bad idea.

Before he can stop himself, he gets up from his deskchair. He walks woozily down the hall, knocks on his parents’ door.

He hears shuffling, hears his dad say, “What is it?”

It’s probably the bloodloss, maybe an adrenaline rush, maybe he’s just stupid but he replies, “I think I might be bleeding to death.”

“What?” More shuffling. His dad opens the door. Stares at Jackson, at his tight grip on his left arm. At the blood covering Jackson's person.

“Oh my god. Sharon, call 911.”

“What? Why?”

Jackson feels horrible, not just because he’s nauseous as hell. He also feels guilty that his parents are going to have to deal with all this shit at 2am. _What are the neighbours going to say?_

He giggles and realises he’s said the last part aloud. Oh well, at least from now on he’ll know nothing will ever be worse than the time he stabbed himself in the arm and had to wake up mommy and daddy to take him to the hospital.

As he passes out, slumped against the hallway wall, he hopes no one at school finds out about this.


End file.
